


Little Beast

by sulfuric



Series: Crush [3]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Self-Acceptance, happy valentines day babey platonic love is the most magical kind of love, light on the reddie but know that they Are dating in this xo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:54:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29440047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sulfuric/pseuds/sulfuric
Summary: There’s a moment where it’s silent save for the radio, fading into something new, and then he hears another peal of laughter—maybe Richie, this time—and thinks that this is what his heart sounds like. This is what his heart sounds like when the air is cool and he has every single person he loves in sight without even having to turn his head.(or: The losers have a barbeque, and Ben does some thinking about love.)
Relationships: Ben Hanscom & The Losers Club, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: Crush [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1988767
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14





	Little Beast

**Author's Note:**

> another one!!! this is a standalone one shot in a series of it fics inspired by the works of richard siken! this one is inspired by the first section of _Little Beast_. i promise this one is happy. platonic love is the key to the universe. mwah!!

You couldn’t quite call it a barbecue, but Ben supposes that that’s what it is. It’s outside, it’s freshly charred burgers, it’s dancing in the backyard. 

He’s sitting on a lawn chair—something sticky is caked into the fibres of the armrest; Bill assures him it’s nothing gross, just whatever post-game snack he had last at baseball. Ben didn’t know Bill plays baseball. More likely, _played_ baseball. He’s learning a lot about the before, little hints here and there waiting for him as he watches, carefully, waiting to be scooped up and placed gently in his pocket for safekeeping. _Mike and his grandmother like to read mystery novels together. No one, not even Bill, can beat Eddie in a race. Beverly loves spicy food, even if it makes her face go red as her hair. Bill used to play baseball._

He’s sitting on a lawn chair, hands folded like an afterthought, socked feet hovering at the edge where the stone meets grass, toes dew-soaked and cold. 

(He’d left his shoes at the front door because he wanted to be polite, and didn’t go back to grab them when they moved outside, because he wanted to be polite.)

He’s watching Bev and Richie dance in bare feet on the grass, a bouncy little jig that doesn’t at all match the little tune that the radio on the patio table aches out, tinny and unrecognizable to Ben. They don’t seem to care, smiles bright and carefree. Ben feels like that, sometimes, mostly when he’s with the losers. But sometimes his socks get wet and he still feels like the new kid no matter how many times Stan asks him what he thinks about whatever they’re talking about.

He’s getting there. He’s soaking in the night and thinking of love, which maybe isn’t as good as just letting the thing be done, but again: he’s getting there. The sky is stained with it, stars poking holes in the top of it and letting the light stream in like laughter. It streams out and streams in, drawing itself out of him whenever Eddie’s laugh pitches up into the night. There’s a moment where it’s silent save for the radio, fading into something new, and then he hears another peal of laughter—maybe Richie, this time—and thinks that this is what his heart sounds like. This is what his heart sounds like when the air is cool and he has every single person he loves in sight without even having to turn his head. 

It’s enough. God, it’s more than enough. 

Ben takes a sip of his drink—whiskey, Bev’s treat to the six of them for finishing another year of school, god knows how she got it or how they did it—and then Stan is cutting in on the grassy dancefloor, Richie scoffing and lunging over dramatically to hoist Eddie up away from where he’s laughing again at something Mike’s said. Bev giggles as Stan kneels down clumsily, taking her hand and pretending to give it a kiss. Richie swings Eddie in the air and gives him a wet, smacking kiss on each cheek before breaking into a funny little dance not unlike the one he’d done with Bev, Eddie feigning embarrassment. Ben’s eyes drift then as Mike laughs to himself, silent and fond, before he turns and presses a kiss to Bill’s temple, only half joking. Something in his heart hitches as Bill goes stiff in the lawn chair he and Mike are still somehow managing to share, nearly on top of each other. His drink trembles in his hand—a short and melodic sort of thing, like the lilt of his voice, beauty in motion. 

Whiskey and kisses for everyone. The night stains itself with love, and Ben looks on with a heart that’s set to burst. 

Later on they go inside and stumble back out with a pile of blankets, seven bodies in the grass watching the light stream down from above, only one of them aware it’s their own creation. Richie names them all as constellations, arm carving out their likenesses in the sky. Ben likes this, feels the warmth and the rightness of it spreading down to his toes, no longer damp from the grass.

 _(Wait,_ Bev had said, tiptoeing onto the grass in her bare feet and laying down the first blanket, tongue poked out in concentration as she lifted it once, twice, three times, waiting for the corners to lay just right. _So you don’t get your socks all wet again,_ she’d explained, looking up with a smile like the milky way, like the rays of heaven, looking right at Ben and loving right back, blades of wet grass sticking out between her toes.)

He is a constellation because Richie says he is. It shouldn’t be surprising, how simple of a statement that is, but Ben takes a moment to soak it all in nonetheless. He likes the feeling. Before he can think of how he wants to create that feeling for them, too, he’s met with the quiet and lovely knowledge that he already does, just by being here and being him. 

Richie taps Stan with his ankle, hooking them together as he describes the old man in the sky that looks _just_ like him. Stan opens his eyes just to roll them at the comment, falling closed shortly after as Bev runs a hand through his hair, her other one linked with Mike’s. Bill has himself draped over Bev, Mike, and Ben—the gangly motherfucker that he is—and hums happily as Mike shuffles to drape an arm over his stomach. Ben lets the weight of Bill’s legs anchor him gently as Eddie tucks into his side, linking his arm under Ben’s to complete the chain.

Ben holds on tight, hands no longer an afterthought.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> those little bitches just love each other so much.... comments and kudos deeply appreciated, also feel free to come jam with me on tumblr [@losersclub3000](https://losersclub3000.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
